Sherlock, Season 1, episode 3 transcript: The Great Game, part 3
Transcript by Ariane DeVere aka Callie Sullivan.
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Sherlock, Season 1, episode 3 transcript: The Great Game, part 3
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Some time later, Kenny is primping in front of the mirror near the fireplace. Nearby, the entrance door shuts and, on the sofa, John puts down his teacup and starts to get up.
JOHN: That’ll be him.
(Raoul shows Sherlock into the room. Sherlock has a large bag over his shoulder and is carrying a long narrow case which is presumably designed to hold a photographic tripod. He walks over to Kenny.)
SHERLOCK: Ah, Mr Prince, isn’t it?
SHERLOCK: Very good to meet you.
KENNY: Yes; thank you.
(They shake hands, Sherlock looking closely at Kenny’s hand as he does so.)
SHERLOCK: So sorry to hear about ...
KENNY: Yes, yes, very kind.
JOHN: Shall we, er ...
(Sherlock walks over to the sofa, puts down the case and starts rummaging in his bag. Kenny turns back to the mirror and fiddles with his hair again.)
JOHN (quietly): You were right. The bacteria got into her another way.
SHERLOCK (smirking): Oh yes?
KENNY (turning towards them): Right. We all set?
JOHN: Um, yes.
(He looks at Sherlock, who has taken a camera and flashgun from his bag, and jerks his head towards Kenny.)
JOHN: Can you ...?
(As Kenny leans one arm on the mantelpiece and poses, Sherlock walks closer and starts taking photographs of him.)
KENNY: Not too close. I’m raw from crying.
(The cat meows at Sherlock’s feet. He looks down.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, who’s this?
KENNY: Sekhmet. Named after the Egyptian goddess.
SHERLOCK: How nice(!) Was she Connie’s?
(John reaches down towards the cat but Kenny beats him to it, bending down and picking it up.)
KENNY: Little present from yours truly.
(Frustrated, John straightens up, then looks at his flatmate.)
JOHN: Sherlock? Uh, light reading?
SHERLOCK: Oh, um ...
(He lifts a second flashgun which he is holding in his other hand and holds it towards Kenny, firing it straight into his face.)
SHERLOCK: Two point eight.
(Kenny squinches his eyes shut against the light.)
KENNY: Bloody hell. What do you think you’re playing at?!
(John immediately reaches out and rubs his fingers over one of the cat’s front paws. Sherlock keeps firing the flashgun to keep Kenny’s eyes closed.)
(John lifts his fingers away and sniffs them while Sherlock continues to fire the flashgun.)
KENNY: You’re like Laurel and bloody Hardy, you two. What’s going on?
JOHN: Actually, I think we’ve got what we came for. Excuse us.
JOHN (grabbing the case from the sofa and heading for the door): We’ve got deadlines.
(Sherlock follows after him.)
KENNY: But you’ve not taken anything!
(Ignoring him, the boys hurry out of the living room and let themselves out of the house. John chuckles delightedly as they walk down the drive and head towards the main road.)
JOHN: Yes! Ooh, yes!
SHERLOCK (smiling): You think it was the cat. It wasn’t the cat.
JOHN: What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It’s how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant.
SHERLOCK (still smiling): Lovely idea.
JOHN: No, he coated it onto the paws of her cat. It’s a new pet – bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn’t have ...
SHERLOCK (interrupting): I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm, but it’s too random and too clever for the brother.
(John chuckles again.)
JOHN: He murdered his sister for her money.
SHERLOCK: Did he?
JOHN (looking at him): Didn’t he?
SHERLOCK: No. It was revenge.
JOHN: Revenge? Who wanted revenge?
SHERLOCK: Raoul, the houseboy. Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister’s jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally he had enough; fell out with her badly. It’s all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so ...
JOHN (stopping and turning to him): No, wait, wait. Wait a second.
(Sherlock stops as well.)
JOHN: What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat’s claws?
SHERLOCK: Raoul keeps a very clean house. You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn’t come into it.
(John pulls his jacket up to sniff at it as Sherlock looks towards the main road.)
SHERLOCK: Raoul’s internet records do, though. Hope we can get a cab from here.
(He walks off. John sighs in exasperation and a touch of disappointment that he hadn’t solved the case for once. He glares towards his friend’s back and then follows him.)
ONE HOUR TO GO. Still sitting in her bed, the old woman cries in despair.
EVENING/NIGHT TIME. NEW SCOTLAND YARD. Sherlock walks into the main office brandishing a folder at Lestrade.
SHERLOCK: Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince’s houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn’t tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince – it was botulinum toxin.
(He puts the folder on the desk. As Lestrade reaches for it, Sherlock leans closer to him.)
SHERLOCK: We’ve been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber’s repeated himself.
(Lestrade walks towards his office, Sherlock following. John stares at them in surprise.)
LESTRADE: So how’d he do it?
SHERLOCK: Botox injection.
(Flashback to Sherlock examining the tiny pinpricks in Connie’s forehead.)
LESTRADE (turning back to him): Botox?
SHERLOCK: Botox is a diluted form of botulinum. Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul’s internet purchases. (He points to the folder.) He’s been bulk ordering Botox for months.
(Nearby, John has continued to stare at Sherlock, and his expression is becoming more angry.)
SHERLOCK (oblivious to this): Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.
LESTRADE: You sure about this?
SHERLOCK: I’m sure.
LESTRADE: All right – my office.
(He turns and walks towards his office. Sherlock starts to follow but John stops him.)
JOHN: Hey, Sherlock. How long?
JOHN: How long have you known?
SHERLOCK: Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.
(He tries to walk towards Lestrade’s office but again John stops him.)
JOHN: No, but Sherl... The hostage... the old woman. She’s been there all this time.
SHERLOCK (leaning closer and looking at him intensely): I knew I could save her. I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don’t you see? We’re one up on him!
(He heads into Lestrade’s office. John purses his lips in frustration, then follows.)
Shortly afterwards, Sherlock is sitting at Lestrade’s desk where a laptop has been opened to The Science of Deduction website. John and Lestrade are standing either side of him. Sherlock types into the message box:
Raoul de Santos, the house-boy, botox.
(He sends the message and the pink phone on the desk beside the computer rings almost instantly. He picks it up and holds the phone to his ear.)
OLD WOMAN (in an anguished voice): Help me.
SHERLOCK (clearly): Tell us where you are. Address.
OLD WOMAN: He was so ... His voice ...
SHERLOCK (urgently): No, no, no, no. Tell me nothing about him. Nothing.
OLD WOMAN: He sounded so ... soft.
(The laser point from the sniper’s rifle moves onto the bomb. A single shot fires and the phone instantly goes dead.)
SHERLOCK (into phone): Hello?
LESTRADE (seeing his expression): Sherlock?
JOHN: What’s happened?
(Slowly, staring ahead of himself, Sherlock lowers the phone from his ear. He bites his lip as Lestrade – realising that something bad must have happened – straightens up and sighs. John braces a hand on the back of Sherlock’s chair.)
MORNING. 221B. Sherlock and John are sitting in their armchairs watching the news on the TV. Sherlock has the pink phone on the left arm of his chair. The windows are still broken and boarded up and the traffic is loud outside. On the TV, the picture shows a high-rise block of flats and the headline at the bottom of the screen reads, “12 dead in gas explosion.” The picture moves to a close-up, showing a corner of the building many floors up which has been torn open and exposed to the air.
NEWS READER: The explosion, which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people ...
JOHN (briefly glancing over his shoulder to Sherlock): Old block of flats.
NEWS READER: ... is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company ...
JOHN: He certainly gets about.
SHERLOCK: Well, obviously I lost that round – although technically I did solve the case.
(He picks up the remote control and mutes the volume. Lowering his hand again he looks thoughtfully into the distance.)
SHERLOCK: He killed the old lady because she started to describe him.
(He raises a finger on his other hand.)
SHERLOCK: Just once, he put himself in the firing line.
JOHN: What d’you mean?
SHERLOCK: Well, usually, he must stay above it all. He organises these things but no-one ever has direct contact.
JOHN: What ... like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that? So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?
SHERLOCK (softly, his face full of admiration): Novel.
(John looks at him in disbelief, then turns and looks at the TV screen again, which has moved on to a new story.)
(He jerks a finger towards the screen and Sherlock looks up to see Raoul de Santos being bundled out of Kenny’s house by police officers. The press are there and are shoving each other as they struggle to get close to Raoul and take photographs while interviewers shout questions. The headline on the screen reads: “Connie Prince: man arrested.” Raoul is shoved into the back of a police car. John looks round at Sherlock, who is looking down at the pink phone.)
SHERLOCK: Taking his time this time.
(John looks away, clearing his throat uncomfortably. On the TV, the camera is focussing on Kenny who is standing at the window of his house, holding Sekhmet in his arms and watching the chaos outside.)
JOHN: Anything on the Carl Powers case?
SHERLOCK: Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection.
JOHN: Maybe the killer was older than Carl?
SHERLOCK: The thought had occurred.
JOHN: So why’s he doing this, then – playing this game with you? D’you think he wants to be caught?
(Sherlock presses his fingertips together in front of his mouth and smiles slightly.)
SHERLOCK: I think he wants to be distracted.
(John laughs humourlessly, gets out of his chair and heads towards the kitchen.)
JOHN: I hope you’ll be very happy together.
SHERLOCK: Sorry, what?
(John turns back, furious, and leans his hands on the back of his chair.)
JOHN: There are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives... Just – just so I know, do you care about that at all?
SHERLOCK (irritably): Will caring about them help save them?
SHERLOCK: Then I’ll continue not to make that mistake.
JOHN: And you find that easy, do you?
SHERLOCK: Yes, very. Is that news to you?
JOHN: No. (He smiles bitterly.) No.
(They lock eyes for a moment.)
SHERLOCK: I’ve disappointed you.
JOHN (still smiling angrily as he points at him sarcastically): That’s good – that’s a good deduction, yeah.
SHERLOCK: Don’t make people into heroes, John. Heroes don’t exist, and if they did, I wouldn’t be one of them.
(They stare at each other for a second but then the pink phone sounds a message alert.)
(He picks up the phone and activates it. The phone sounds one short pip and the long tone, and a photograph appears showing a river bank.)
SHERLOCK: View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo.
(He reaches into his jacket for his own phone.)
SHERLOCK: You check the papers; I’ll look online ...
(He looks up and sees that John is standing with his hands braced on the back of his chair and his head lowered.)
SHERLOCK: Oh, you’re angry with me, so you won’t help.
(John raises his head and shrugs.)
SHERLOCK: Not much cop, this caring lark.
(He loudly clicks the ‘k’ on the last word. Your transcriber blissfully falls off her chair. Sherlock dismisses John from his mind and begins a search on his phone:
+ High Tide
John stares at him for a moment, then straightens up as he perhaps begins to realise that his friend is never going to change. Sherlock continues his online search, totally focussed on his work and oblivious to the emotional trauma which his flatmate is going through. After a while John sniffs, then walks across the room towards the sofa. Sherlock switches to a search for
He selects Waterloo as John tiredly sits down on the sofa and starts going through the pile of newspapers on the coffee table. Sherlock’s phone shows timed reports from the Waterloo area, giving tide times, police reports and other information.)
JOHN (reading from a newspaper): Archway suicide.
SHERLOCK (snapping irritably): Ten a penny.
(John throws him a look as Sherlock goes back to the Local News option and selects Battersea. The page shows “No new reports.” He tries “Thames Police Reports” and starts scrolling through the duty log.)
JOHN: Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington.
(He puts that paper aside and looks at another one.)
JOHN: Ah. Man found on the train line – Andrew West.
(Sherlock looks exasperated when he finds no helpful information in the reports.)
(He hits a speed dial and the phone begins to ring out. As soon as it is answered he starts talking.)
SHERLOCK: It’s me. Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?
On the south bank of the River Thames, the tide has receded to reveal the body of a large man wearing black trousers, a white shirt, black socks and no shoes.
Later, while the police and forensics officers work at the scene, our boys arrive. Sherlock is pulling on a pair of latex gloves. Lestrade is waiting beside the body.
LESTRADE: D’you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?
SHERLOCK: Must be. Odd, though ... (he holds up the pink phone) ... he hasn’t been in touch.
LESTRADE: But we must assume that some poor bugger’s primed to explode, yeah?
(He steps back and takes a long look at the man’s body which is now lying on its back on a plastic sheet.)
LESTRADE: Any ideas?
SHERLOCK: Seven ... so far.
(Sherlock walks closer to the body and squats down to examine the man’s face closely with his magnifier. He then looks at the ripped pocket on the shirt before working his way downwards until he reaches the man’s feet. He pulls off one of the socks and examines the sole of the foot with his magnifier. Standing up and closing the magnifier, he looks across to John and jerks his head down towards the body in a mute order to examine it. John looks enquiringly at Lestrade for permission; the inspector holds his hand out in a ‘be my guest’ gesture. John squats down beside the body and reaches out to take hold of the man’s wrist while Sherlock walks a few paces away and gets out his phone.)
JOHN: He’s dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. (He looks up at Lestrade.) Did he drown?
(Sherlock has called up
LESTRADE: Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated.
JOHN: Yes, I’d agree.
(Sherlock looks up thoughtfully, then selects the latter option and the screen changes to:
JOHN: There’s quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here.
(Sherlock selects the “Most Wanted” option, then looks up as he mentally flashes back to looking at the small round red marks beside the man’s mouth and near his hairline.)
SHERLOCK (thoughtfully): Fingertips.
(As John stands up, Sherlock shifts to a new search:
He scrolls through the options:
Last 36 hrs
JOHN: In his late thirties, I’d say. Not in the best condition.
SHERLOCK: He’s been in the river a long while. The water’s destroyed most of the data.
(He quirks a grin.)
SHERLOCK: But I’ll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting’s a fake.
SHERLOCK: We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates ...
LESTRADE: Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?
SHERLOCK: It’s all over the place. Haven’t you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it’s turned up. Worth thirty million pounds.
LESTRADE: Okay. So what has that got to do with the stiff?
SHERLOCK (grinning briefly): Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?
JOHN: It’s a horror story, isn’t it? What are you saying?
SHERLOCK: Jewish folk story. A gigantic man made of clay. It’s also the name of an assassin – real name Oskar Dzundza – one of the deadliest assassins in the world.
(He points down to the body.)
SHERLOCK: That is his trademark style.
LESTRADE: So this is a hit?
SHERLOCK: Definitely. The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.
LESTRADE: But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don’t see ...
SHERLOCK (exasperated): You do see – you just don’t observe.
JOHN: All right, all right, girls, calm down. Sherlock? D’you wanna take us through it?
(Taking a moment before he responds, Sherlock eventually steps back and points to the body.)
SHERLOCK: What do we know about this corpse? The killer’s not left us with much – just the shirt and the trousers. They’re pretty formal – maybe he was going out for the night, but the trousers are heavy-duty, polyester, nasty, same as the shirt – cheap. They’re both too big for him, so some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There’s a hook on his belt for a walkie-talkie.
LESTRADE: Tube driver?
(Sherlock throws him a look which blatantly says ‘idiot.’)
JOHN: Security guard?
SHERLOCK: More likely. That’ll be borne out by his backside.
SHERLOCK: Flabby. You’d think that he’d led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard’s looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts.
(Flashback to Sherlock pushing buttons on the man’s wristwatch and it showing an alarm time of 2:30.)
LESTRADE: Why regular? Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died.
SHERLOCK: No-no-no, the buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there’s something else. The killer must have been interrupted, otherwise he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognisable, some kind of institution.
(He takes something from his pocket.)
SHERLOCK: Found this inside his trouser pockets.
(He is holding a small scrunched-up ball of paper.)
SHERLOCK: Sodden by the river but still recognisably ...
JOHN (peering at the ball of paper): Tickets?
SHERLOCK: Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check – the Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing.
(He points down to the body.)
SHERLOCK: Alex Woodbridge. Tonight they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference: the dead man knew something about it – something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture’s a fake.
JOHN (admiringly): Fantastic.
SHERLOCK (shrugging, apparently still peeved about their earlier argument): Meretricious.
LESTRADE: And a Happy New Year!
(John throws him a ‘seriously?!’ look. Lestrade grins sheepishly, then John looks down at the body again.)
JOHN: Poor sod.
LESTRADE: I’d better get my feelers out for this Golem character.
SHERLOCK: Pointless. You’ll never find him. But I know a man who can.
SHERLOCK (grinning): Me.
(He turns and walks away. John sighs, his entire body radiating ‘Oh, here we go again,’ but he dutifully follows his friend.)
TAXI. As the boys sit in the back of the cab, Sherlock is looking at the pink phone in frustration.
SHERLOCK: Why hasn’t he phoned? He’s broken his pattern. Why?
(A thought strikes him and he leans forward to the taxi driver.)
SHERLOCK: Waterloo Bridge.
JOHN: Where now? The Gallery?
SHERLOCK: In a bit.
JOHN: The Hickman’s contemporary art, isn’t it? Why have they got hold of an Old Master?
SHERLOCK: Dunno. Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data.
(He has taken his notebook from his pocket and now writes something on a page before tearing it out and folding a bank note inside it. He puts the paper into his pocket, then a few seconds later calls out to the driver.)
(The cab pulls over to the side of the road.)
SHERLOCK: You wait here. I won’t be a moment.
(He gets out, goes to the railings at the edge of the pavement and easily vaults over them.)
JOHN (also getting out of the cab): Sherlock ...
(As Sherlock walks off, John shakes his head in exasperation, then scrambles over the railings and follows him. Sherlock trots up some steps to where a young woman is sitting on a bench under Waterloo Bridge. She has a large bag beside her with a handwritten cardboard sign poking out of the top. The first two words on the sign say, “HUNGRY AND”. Presumably the next word, obscured by some of her possessions, is ‘HOMELESS.’)
HOMELESS GIRL: Change? Any change?
SHERLOCK: What for?
HOMELESS GIRL: Cup of tea, of course.
SHERLOCK (handing her the piece of paper from his pocket): Here you go – fifty.
HOMELESS GIRL (smiling): Thanks.
(He immediately turns and walks away again. John looks at him in bewilderment before turning and following, pointing back towards the girl.)
JOHN: What are you doing?
(John looks back to where the girl is unfolding the note and reading it. Sherlock goes to the railings and easily leaps over them again. He opens the rear door of the cab.)
SHERLOCK: Now we go to the Gallery.
(He stops and looks back at John.)
SHERLOCK: Have you got any cash?
(John – just offscreen – presumably nods because Sherlock gets into the cab and John follows.)
HICKMAN GALLERY. The taxi pulls up and Sherlock steps out. John is about to follow but Sherlock stops him.
SHERLOCK: No. I need you to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address.
(He closes the cab door and gives a new instruction to the driver. Sherlock walks away towards the gallery.)
ALEX WOODBRIDGE’S HOME. A woman leads John into Alex’s tiny attic bedroom. It’s messy with clothes scattered everywhere. The window in the canted ceiling looks up into the sky, and standing below it is a large object covered with a sheet.
JULIE: We’d been sharing about a year. Just sharing.
(Julie stops and gestures around the room. John walks in and looks around, not touching anything. He looks at the sheet-covered object and points to it.)
JOHN: May I?
(John tries to lift just the top of the sheet but it slips from his fingers and falls to the floor.)
(He looks at the telescope on a tripod which has been revealed.)
JOHN: Stargazer, was he?
JULIE: God, yeah. Mad about it. It’s all he ever did in his spare time.
(She looks away sadly.)
JULIE: He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him.
(She looks around the room.)
JULIE: He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering.
(She laughs nervously. John smiles at her, then pulls a face as she looks away.)
JOHN: What about art? Did he know anything about that?
JULIE (shaking her head): It was just a job, you know?
(He bends down and peers at the items on the bedside table.)
JOHN: Has anyone else been round asking about Alex?
JULIE: No. We had a break-in, though.
JOHN (straightening up): Hmm? When?
JULIE: Last night. There was nothing taken. Oh – there was a message left for Alex on the landline.
JOHN: Who was it from?
JULIE: Well, I can play it for you if you like. I’ll get the phone.
(She goes out of the room briefly and comes back with the phone and plays the message.)
WOMAN’s VOICE: Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it’s Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when ...
(The message ends.)
JOHN: Professor Cairns?
JULIE: No, no idea, sorry.
JOHN: Mm. Can I try and ring back?
JULIE: Well, no good. I mean, I’ve had other calls since – sympathy ones, you know.
(He nods and Julie leaves the room again just as John’s phone trills a text alert. He gets out the phone and looks at the message which reads:
RE: BRUCE-PARTINGTON PLANS
Have you spoken to West’s
John grimaces and puts away the phone.)
HICKMAN GALLERY. An elegantly dressed woman walks into the large white-painted room which is displaying the Vermeer painting. There is no other artwork or furniture of any kind in the room, but two rows of free-standing posts are roped together to form a path to the picture. The woman stops at the sight of a security man in a black jacket and black cap standing in front of the painting with his back to her.
MISS WENCESLAS (in an Eastern European accent): Don’t you have something to do?
SHERLOCK (for it is he): Just admiring the view.
MISS WENCESLAS: Yes. Lovely. Now get back to work. We open tonight.
(Sherlock looks over his shoulder and then turns and walks towards her.)
SHERLOCK: Doesn’t it bother you?
MISS WENCESLAS: What?
SHERLOCK: That the painting’s a fake.
MISS WENCESLAS (angrily): What?
SHERLOCK: It’s a fake. It has to be. It’s the only possible explanation.
(Getting closer to her, he looks at her I.D. badge.)
SHERLOCK: You’re in charge, aren’t you, Miss Wenceslas?
[And yes, he does call her Miss Wencleslas both here and later. I can only presume that this is a Benedict thing rather than a Sherlock thing – that’s a lot of sibilance to pronounce when you have a tendency to lisp.]
MISS WENCESLAS: Who are you?
SHERLOCK (getting into her face and staring into her eyes): Alex Woodbridge knew that the painting was a fake, so somebody sent the Golem to take care of him. Was it you?
MISS WENCESLAS: Golem? What the hell are you talking about?
SHERLOCK: Or are you working for someone else? Did you fake it for them?
MISS WENCESLAS: It’s not a fake.
SHERLOCK: It is a fake. Don’t know why, but there’s something wrong with it. There has to be.
MISS WENCESLAS: What the hell are you on about? You know, I could have you sacked on the spot.
SHERLOCK: Not a problem.
MISS WENCESLAS: No?
SHERLOCK: No. I don’t work here, you see. Just popped in to give you a bit of friendly advice.
MISS WENCESLAS: How did you get in?
SHERLOCK (scornfully): Please.
MISS WENCESLAS: I want to know.
SHERLOCK: The art of disguise is knowing how to hide in plain sight.
(He turns and begins to walk away, taking off his cap.)
MISS WENCESLAS: Who are you?
SHERLOCK: Sherlock Holmes.
(He drops the cap onto the top of one of the railing posts and continues onwards.)
MISS WENCESLAS: Am I supposed to be impressed?
SHERLOCK: You should be.
(Taking off the jacket, he looks round at her as he deliberately drops it on the floor. Reaching the doors, he flamboyantly shoves one open, almost dancing out of the room.)
SHERLOCK: Have a nice day!
(Miss Wenceslas walks closer to the painting and looks at it as the door slowly and squeakily swings closed.)
WESTIE’S FLAT. John is sitting on the sofa beside Andrew West’s fiancée. He has been there long enough for her to have made them mugs of something which are on the coffee table in front of them. Lucy is upset throughout the ensuing conversation.
LUCY: He wouldn’t. He just wouldn’t.
JOHN (gently): Well, stranger things have happened.
LUCY: Westie wasn’t a traitor. It’s a horrible thing to say!
JOHN: I’m sorry, but you must understand that’s ...
LUCY: That’s what they think, isn’t it, his bosses?
JOHN (nodding): He was a young man, about to get married. He had debts ...
LUCY: Everyone’s got debts; and Westie wouldn’t wanna clear them by selling out his country.
JOHN: Can you, um, can you tell me exactly what happened that night?
LUCY: We were having a night in, just watching a DVD.
(She smiles at the memory.)
LUCY: He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet.
(She becomes tearful.)
LUCY: Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone.
JOHN: And you’ve no idea who?
(Shaking her head, Lucy begins to cry.)
Later, she opens the front door and shows John out. A cycle courier walks along the pavement towards the house, wheeling his pushbike.
JOE: Oh, hi, Luce. You okay, love?
JOE: Who’s this?
JOHN: John Watson. Hi.
LUCY (to John): This is my brother, Joe. (She turns to her brother.) John’s trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe.
JOE (looking John up and down): You with the police?
JOHN: Uh, sort of, yeah.
JOE: Well, tell ’em to get off their arses, will you? It’s bloody ridiculous.
JOHN: I’ll do my best.
(Nodding, Joe turns and puts a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder for a moment before wheeling his bike inside the house. John clears his throat and steps closer to Lucy.)
JOHN: Well, er, thanks very much for your help; and again, I’m very, very sorry.
(He turns to leave but Lucy calls after him.)
LUCY: He didn’t steal those things, Mr Watson.
(John turns back to her.)
LUCY: I knew Westie. He was a good man. (She starts to cry.) He was my good man.
(She turns and goes back indoors. John walks away
looking like one awesome BAMF and melting ovaries everywhere. Hang on, why did I strike that out? Edit: John walks away, looking like one awesome BAMF and melting ovaries everywhere. There, fixed it for you me.)
NIGHT TIME. John is in the back of a taxi heading along Baker Street. Further along the road, the homeless girl is standing by the railings at the other side of Speedy’s, shaking a paper cup at people as they pass by.
HOMELESS GIRL: Spare change? Any spare change?
(Sherlock comes out of 221 and stops, looking down the road towards her. The taxi pulls up and John gets out. Sherlock walks over to him.)
JOHN: Alex Woodbridge didn’t know anything special about art.
JOHN: And ...
(Sherlock looks towards the girl again and starts to walk towards her while still talking to John.)
SHERLOCK: Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?
JOHN: No, give us a chance! He was an amateur astronomer.
(Sherlock stops dead, turns and points towards the taxi.)
SHERLOCK: Hold that cab.
(John trots back to the taxi while Sherlock goes over to the girl.)
HOMELESS GIRL: Spare change, sir?
SHERLOCK: Don’t mind if I do.
JOHN (to the cab driver): Can you wait here?
(The girl hands Sherlock a piece of paper. Unfolding it, he sees that she has written “VAUXHALL ARCHES” on it. Smiling briefly, he turns and walks back to John.)
SHERLOCK: Fortunately, I haven’t been idle.
(He opens the cab door and gets in.)
SHERLOCK: Come on.
(John climbs in and the taxi heads off.)
VAUXHALL. The boys have got out of the cab and are walking along, Sherlock buttoning his coat as he gazes up at the sky.
SHERLOCK: Beautiful, isn’t it?
(John looks up [and sees an impossibly dense star field that you would never see in central London in a million years].)
JOHN: I thought you didn’t care about things like that.
SHERLOCK: Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate it.
(They walk into the Arches.)
JOHN: Listen: Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat – a Professor Cairns?
SHERLOCK: This way.
JOHN: Nice(!) Nice part of town. Er, any time you wanna explain.
SHERLOCK: Homeless network – really is indispensible.
JOHN (getting a small flashlight from his pocket and switching it on): Homeless network?
SHERLOCK: My eyes and ears all over the city.
JOHN: Oh, that’s clever. So you scratch their backs and ...
SHERLOCK: Yes, then I disinfect myself.
(He has also brought a torch and shines it around as they continue into the darkness of the Arches. Their beams pick out homeless people all around the place, most of them settling down for the night. Suddenly, in the distance, the shadow of a man shows on a wall as he begins to stand up. The man is incredibly tall.)
SHERLOCK: Come on!
(They duck to the side of a wall while the man continues straightening up for ages until he is over seven feet tall.)
JOHN (in a whisper): What’s he doing sleeping rough?
SHERLOCK (peering around the corner): Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won’t wag – much.
(John looks down as he realises that he has come out without something essential.)
JOHN: Oh shi...
SHERLOCK (taking John’s pistol from his coat pocket): What?
JOHN: I wish I’d ...
SHERLOCK (handing him the gun): Don’t mention it.
(The man breaks into a run and hurries away down another tunnel. The boys chase across towards where he was and reach the tunnel just in time to see him climbing into a waiting car which immediately speeds off. Sherlock punches the air in frustration.)
SHERLOCK: No, no, no, no! It’ll take us weeks to find him again.
JOHN: Or not. I have an idea where he might be going.
JOHN: I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message. There can’t be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.
PLANETARIUM. Professor Cairns is alone in the planetarium’s theatre. As Gustav Holst’s “Mars” plays over the sound system, she is standing at the mixing desk in front of a huge screen and watching footage of a film which is played to visitors. Other than the light coming from the screen, the room is in darkness.
NARRATOR (over the footage): Jupiter, the fifth planet in our solar system and the largest. Jupiter is a gas giant. Planet Earth would fit into it eleven times.
CAIRNS (bored): Yes, we know that.
(She stops the recording and fast-forwards it for a moment because starting the playback again.)
NARRATOR: Titan is the largest moon.
CAIRNS (fast-forwarding again): Come on, Neptune, where’re you hiding?
(Behind her, a hand pushes open the door to the theatre. A moment later, just as Cairns starts the playback again, the door bangs shut. She looks round.)
NARRATOR: Many are actually long dead ...
(Cairns peers up to the projection room.)
CAIRNS: Tom? Is that you?
NARRATOR: ... exploded into supernovas.
(She turns back to the desk. Behind her a long arm reaches out towards her.)
NARRATOR: ... discovered by Urbain Le Verrier in 1846.
(A tall figure steps up behind Cairns and clamps one hand over her mouth and nose, pulling her backwards.)
CAIRNS (muffled): Oh my God!
(She claws at the hand, crying out in muffled panic, and her other hand flails out and drags several of the sliders down the mixing desk. The footage begins to jump randomly as Cairns’ attacker continues to suffocate her.)
NARRATOR: ... composed mainly of hydrogen. Their light takes so long to reach us ...
(Sherlock and John race into the theatre through another door. As John stops and aims his pistol towards the attacker, Sherlock yells at the top of his voice.)
NARRATOR ... many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas.
(The Golem looks up, grunts in surprise, then snaps Cairns’ neck and drops her to the floor. Her fingers drag along the mixing desk and the footage goes into fast-forward again, plunging the theatre into darkness. The Golem ducks down out of sight.)
JOHN: I can’t see him. I’ll go round. I’ll go!
(As the footage continues spooling and then stopping and playing before spooling again, light comes and goes in the room. Sherlock stares around as John hurries off.)
SHERLOCK (loudly): Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?
(Behind him, the Golem steps out of the fluctuating darkness and clamps one hand around Sherlock’s mouth and nose while gripping his neck with the other. Sherlock grabs at the hand on his face, struggling to pull it free as he is slowly suffocated. John races over and stops in front of them, his pistol held in both hands.)
(He cocks the gun and points it at the Golem’s face, his hands and voice steady.)
JOHN: Let him go, or I will kill you.
(Sherlock, whimpering in his efforts, continues trying to pull the man’s hand from his face. The Golem swings him around to the left and lashes out with his long right leg during a moment of darkness, kicking the pistol from John’s hands. Dropping Sherlock to the ground, he surges forward and wrestles with John. As Sherlock gets to his feet, the Golem shoves John into him, sending both of the boys tumbling to the floor. Sherlock scrambles up again and takes up a boxing stance in front of him, holding up his clenched fists. He swings a punch at the man but Dzundza grabs his hand and swings his other arm down heavily onto Sherlock’s shoulder, dropping him to the floor yet again. The Golem follows him down and clamps both hands over his face, leaning his weight onto them. Behind him, John throws himself onto his back. The Golem roars, releasing Sherlock as he claws at the hobbit on his back. He stands up with John still clinging to his back and spins around several times before finally managing to shake him off onto the floor. As John groggily tries to get up, the Golem turns, picks up Sherlock and skims him across the floor towards John. Sliding across the floor, Sherlock grabs at the pistol and manages to pick it up. The Golem runs for the doors. Sherlock rolls over onto his back and fires twice towards him but the Golem makes it to the doors and disappears through them.)
NARRATOR: ... long dead, exploded into supernovas.
(As the image of a supernova dramatically explodes on the screen behind him, Sherlock angrily slams his hand down on the floor in front of him.)
Continue to Part 4